


Don't You Wanna Play?

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gen, Hide and Seek, Revenge, as in l i t t e r a l l y, eska has NO chill, eska is a death machine but really thats not anything new, finger biting, kim is a massive dad, willy and wally want to slap him but hes too much of a Good, willy belongs to Control_Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: You can't expect to hurt a demon's friend and walk away untouched.





	Don't You Wanna Play?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [kids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143758) by [Control_Room](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room). 



Bill groaned, eyes slowly opening to meet the unfamiliar blackness of 2 AM. It took his foggy mind a while to become aware of his surroundings, but as soon as he did, a smirk curled up on his face.

What had awaken him was rubbing on his hips.

He could feel hands pressing onto his bed, each pinning the pillow down just centimeters away from both sides of his head, and soft breaths being sucked in with haste, afraid to be discovered. He uncerimoniously grabbed his unexpected late night companion right under the ribcage, expecting a shiver, a gasp, a somewhat frightened reaction from the figure he’d just surprised wanting him. Instead, the rubbing ceased.

What was this skinny bitch’s deal? He dug his nails deeper in the scraggy flesh; again, nothing responded.

Maybe they’d just frozen in fear, realizing too late he wanted to be concious part of the fun they were having. Perhaps, Bill thought, a bit of light could have brought them back to work.

He turned on the lamp at his bedside, anticipating the sweet banquet awaiting him as soon as the slut would have started doing their job again when –

 

~~A skull faced him.~~

 

Before he could react a fist hit his temple, stunning him. The light flickered off and left him completely alone and disoriented in a black canvas. Ten bony fingers grabbed him and shoved him on the floor with a violence he wouldn’t have believed being possible.

Then came a bite, and Bill screamed as he felt the teeth sink deep into his leg, so deep it felt like it was about to reach his bone and snap it like a branch, tearing the muscle away from it, and after that came many, many other chaws, each more painful than the last, voracious, angry, murderous.

He punched the intruder in an attempt to get rid of them; his hand hit something soft, and then it was held in an iron grip. A part of his body gave a sharp  _crack_  and a yell left his mouth, overwhelmed by pain. His panic took over and made him kick whatever was attacking him.

Somehow, it worked.

He scrambled into the bathroom, eyes now accostumed to the darkness feverishly trying to detect the attacker, the predestined hiding spot and what in the world had made that horrible cracking noise. It took him trying to grab the handle and finding it so strangely hard to do to figure it out.

 

His thumb.

 

It was replaced by nothing and blood.

 

As he closed the door with the left hand and hastily searched for a bandage to wrap his injured hand in, his thoughts raced wildly like dogs without horses.

That fucker had bitten his goddamn finger off! How? What about the legs? Were they any better? No, oh, dear God, no, no, _no,_  that looked like something that needed stitches, and it needed them right now. They were bleeding all over the pavement, no matter how hard he wiped the blood away. What was the other guy’s deal? What was happening? Why did they try and fuck him while he was asleep and then went crazy as soon as he woke up? Were they a serial killer? Was it even a person? How did it come in? How did it find him? Why did it look for him? What had he done to it? Why was its face a skull? Was it even still alive? The kick couldn’t have been that strong, right? He didn’t have a corpse in his room, right? He wouldn’t have had to hide the body, right? He wouldn’t have gotten in trouble if anyone ever found out, right? It was self-defense, he could have shown the bites and the missing thumb, the police would have understood, right? It couldn’t possibly be dead, right? 

 

_But that meant there was something right there in his house and home trying to eat him alive and he had barricaded himself in the only place where he couldn’t get a hold of his gun or phone to call for help._

 

“OH, BIIIILL!”

 

He choked on his own breath. It couldn’t know where he was. His house was pretty big. He had to wait, and it would have gone somewhere else, and looked for him, and he would have grabbed his gun and phone and–

He’d seen it. Lying on the floor. One eye open.

Following him.

 

“I KNOOOOW WHERE YOU AAARE,  **BIIIILL!** ”

 

The intruder banged on the door, and Bill jolted back against the sink.

The sound felt eerily similar to a gunshot for how hard it was.

It was like playing hide-and-seek with Death. Adrenaline began running thorugh his veins, but instead of sharpening his senses it seemed to freeze him on the spot, terrified, bloody and defenseless.

Or maybe not.

 

**“DON’T YOU WANNA PLAY WITH YOUR LITTLE BROTHERS?!”**

 

The door broke down, his last trench anihiliated as it unhinged pathetically.

Bill hurled himself at his opponent, razor in hand to cut the other’s flesh. Two palms wrapped around his wrists faster than lightning to prevent him from doing anything mildly inconveniencing while a foot stomped his stomach against the sink, cutting his air supply short.

That didn’t stop him from screaming when fangs dug deep into his flesh, first just trying to feast on the arms, then moving once again to the fingers.  _Crack, crack, crack_ , and then the face was suddenly so close Bill could feel the cold breath and harsh surface on his cheek before it went down and bit into his shoulder with the desperate fury of a starving animal hunting in winter. 

Bill jerked his arm away as soon as he felt the pressure leaving and hit whatever that thing was in the face, it lifted him from the ground and threw him on the tiles. One of them broke, or at least Bill hoped so. Hands clutched around his neck while bony limbs hit his spine in the very real attempt to break it, and his thoughts ran wild.

What had he done? What did it say, what did it say before? Brothers, brothers, little brothers, he didn’t have any, Tim? Tim was dead, he didn’t have any, he didn’t know any, little brothers, little brothers, wait, there were - -

 

The figure tossed him aside and Bill looked at it, terror and the realization of a grave mistake seeping down into his skin.

 

The trembling light of a far away street lamp weakly highlighted the long silhouette standing over him, fists clenched, dishelved hair that seemed to curl deep into the shadows. He should have understood sooner. He should have recognized the callous hands, the anger as he hit him, the broken voice.

He just didn’t expect him to be so tall.

 

He grabbed Bill angrily and crashed his head on the toilet. The older man began to cry and beg for his life; he couldn’t have cared less. He slammed him down once again, opening a cut on his temple: “SAY YOU’RE SORRY.”

“I’m sorry!”

“LOUDER.”

“I’m sorry!”

_“LOUDER!”_

“I’M SORRY!”

 

For a second, Bill felt himself float. Then his back broke the shower glass, and he realized he’d just thrown him around.

 

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN SHIT NOW!” his aggressor sneered, grabbing his ankle to keep him from standing up. He bossily positioned himself between the other man’s spread apart legs, pushing with rage running through his blood and nails digging in the tender flesh to leave bleeding marks everywhere they sunk. His figure casted such a pitch black shadow, his victim felt as if he’d gone blind. “YOU’LL HAVE TO SHOW ME YOU ARE!”

“NO!” Bill shouted. He felt something cold grab his clothes, tear them apart, leave him naked, defenseless. “PLEASE, NO!”

 

“No?”

 

Such a low, soft sound. It disoriented Bill. Was his attacker still there? Had he been replaced?

And then pain,  _pain, PAIN, **PAIN.**_

“I THOUGHT YOU LIKED THIS GAME, BILL!” he screamed, voice shrill and thunderous at the same time, as he pushed, bit, cut, punched, kicked his helpless victim, harder, harder, until he could barely breathe.

“DIDN’T YOU WANNA PLAY WITH ME?!”

Those last words rang through Bill’s mind as it shut down. He reawakened to policemen call by a neighbor frightened by his screams, checking all over the house to find the vamoosed attacker and escorting him away to an ambulance.

 

A pair of eyes hid in the dark, watching.

 

* * *

 

 

“What on Earth happened to you?!”

Eska realized he really hadn’t thought through a plan in case Kim’s protective instincts finally kicked in as the toy maker bolted out of his chair to get a better look at the swollen, blue-ish eye that poked through his mask’s socket.

“Why aren’t you at the infirmary?” he questioned, hand reaching out to check the bruise, “That looks terribly painful!”

“Don’t need.” the handyman replied, but still flinched at the gentle pressure the other man’s fingers pressed onto his skin, a soft hiss leaving his mouth. Kim shot him a judgemental stare.

“Sure you don’t. You’re going over there and getting this patched up.  _Now_.”

Eska let out a groan similar to a whining; however, the other was clearly having none of it.

“Oh, don’t you ‘hnrrrg’ at me. It’s already a miracle Niamh hasn’t seen you, or this place would have been torn inside out about two seconds ago. Wally, Wally, come over here for a second!” he called, gesturing to the passing janitor.

Wally blessed him silently for giving him an excuse not to proceed on his way to get extremely soaked in ink because of the new pipe that had just decided to put an end to its suffering by exploding, and reached him.

“What is it?”

“I need you to make sure Eska gets to the infirmary.”

“Can’t he… do that on his own, though?”

“Oh, I trust his ability to do that. What I _don’t_ trust is his stubborn trickster god instinct that has decided he does not need some sort of medical intervention.”

Franks huffed with a giggle: “C’mon! He doesn’t look that bad.”

“You just say that ‘cause he probably already left.”

To Wally’s surprise, looking at the toy maker’s side actually did result in him not seeing the long bony bastard that had been standing there just a minute before. His gaze beamed back and forth between the empty air and the other man, absolutely dazzled; he raised his index finger as his mouth began to open, a whole questionaire on the lines of How The Fuck Did You Know That ready to be shot out of it at the speed of sound, but Kim’s quiet glare proved faster.

 

“Just. Please.” he begged placing his hands on the janitor’s shoulders, “Check if he’s actually in the infirmary.”

“… Is he really hurt that badly?”

Kim waited a moment. Then he hid his face in his hands to muffle a groan of frustration, seconds later re-elaborated in an understandable sentence: “Honestly I don’t know, I just saw a livid on his face and my fight response broke out of my brain, pointed a gun at my head and yelled at me to send him put some ice on that or something.”

 

Wally sighed at such parental concerns. Fine. He would check if the demon had gone to patch himself up.

“You sound like a dad.” he commented on his way out of the room.

The toy maker was stunned for a second: “I do?” he then asked, too late for himself to be answered.

Now, going all the way up to the first floor from Heavenly Toys was quite a bit of a jog, especially with the elevator being a death cage ready to collapse at any moment. Still, the handyman was only barely surprised when he saw a clothed skeleton crouched in front of an open cabinet.

The spawn of hell was known for his teleportation practices, after all.

“Looking for ice?” he called, already going to get it.

A croaking voice rose from the bundle of bones: “Yes.”

“Well, it’s not there as you can guess.” Wally joked, automatically handing the other a small cold bag before facing him completely: “Here you go-OH Jesus! Kim was not kidding!”

Eska didn’t seem too moved by the statement. He slapped the cold cubes on his blue eye, shoving them down the wooden socket and sighing in relief as the frozen, senseless, unforgiving solid water soothed his wounds. He sat on a table, peaceful to a point where he was the spit image of a pleased cat.

The janitor came closer, spying many more bruises all over the visible skin: “You can’t even keep yer eye open all the way!  What did you even do?” he asked, amazed.

 

“Attempted murder.”

 

Wally froze.

The factotum just reached for a tissue to clean his mouth hidden under the wooden mask. When he was done, the white material was stained red.

“I can see why it was attempted.” murmured Wally.

“It’s from the fingers I bit off.”

Wally’s hand flew to the walkie-talkie faster than it had ever done. Two minutes later, Willy swung in from the door: “What’s the matter?”

“HE TRIED TO KILL A MAN!” his twin responded, pointing at the very calm apex predator dangling his extremely skinny legs in his several sizes bigger overalls,

“What?!”

“AND ATE THE GUY’S FINGERS!”

“Didn’t.” Eska defended himself, “Spat the out.”

“Dear God!” Willy grabbed his own head in his hands, “Oh, sweet Jesus! Why did you do that?!”

“Was a bastard.”

“That’s not a good reason!”

“Is.”

Willy could feel himself seconds away from throwing something at his friend for giving such frank statements.

“Do you even understand what this means?!” he cried out instead, knowing all too well hurling contundent objects at a paranormal creature would’ve resolved in a general failure, “You could go to jail!”

“Can’t identify someone wearing a mask in the dark.”

“ESKA!”

If he had been born with a tail, Eska would have been waving it like mad at that moment. Pride was just pouring from his only visible eye like one of the ink waterfalls Joey kept installing in the Studios.

I did a good, his perfectly still stare claimed.

You absolutely didn’t, replied the burning gaze both twins shot him.

But the contentment emitting from their opponent didn’t diminish. At all. So Willy sucked in a long breath to steady himself, and approached the situation with the calmest, yet most aggressive tone he could muster: “I  _know_  you know attempted murder is a crime.”

“Allowing Bill’s existence was also a crime.”

A shiver ran down both of the Franks spines; Wally immediately caught his brother’s questioning glance, responding at the speed of light with a fearful look. No, he hadn’t let that slip. He’d never let something that big slip, not even with Sammy and Thomas. That wasn’t something he’d just tell around.

So how. The fuck. Did  _he_  know.

“ _It_  knows.” replied the beaten up demon as if reading their minds.

He raised his arm, showing them a small drawing of snouted skull with retorted horns. His hair seemed to be ruffled; they caught a glimpse of something similar to a skeletal hand caressing his head.

Maybe they shouldn’t ask.

“Still.” Willy swallowed, “He… He had stopped pursuing us. He  _is_  a bastard, and you had the best intentions, but it was years ago. You shouldn’t have done something that dangerous.”

For a minute, no sound could be heard.

“However…" he added, torturing his fongers, "I guess, if you didn’t leave any evidence we can just. Call it day and go on with our lives.”

“Speaking of that, did you just bite off his fingers or…?” the older brother asked.

“Legs and arms.”

“Those too?!”

“Just chewed.” the twins could just see a sly smile forming under the unemotional skull.

“How hard did you chew?” inquired Willy.

“He’ll need stitches.”

The janitor saved him a concerned stare just before Wally began bouncing on his legs as he incited: “What else, what else?”

“Bashed his head in the toilette.”

“And?”

“Shattered the shower with his back.”

“And?!”

Eska didn’t answer right away, though his invisible grin could be seen growing larger and larger.

The oldest Franks choked a deranged giggle: “You bit his  _dick_ off?!”

“Heavily mutilated with razor.” the factotum finally replied with a smirk so big it almost reached his ears. “Won’t use that anytime soon.”

Wally had to hold himself up to not collapse wheezing. Within the dying noises he couldn’t help but make snuck about a dozen enthusiastic curses.

“Nice.” Willy whispered, satisfied.


End file.
